


Oh, What Could Have Been A Night

by greyscalemuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, The wedding, a great big what if, sherlock gets his dance, tsot fix-it sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyscalemuse/pseuds/greyscalemuse
Summary: If Major James Sholto could have stayed to the end of the reception and Sherlock Holmes had allowed himself to stay because of it - what could have happened between the two of them?





	Oh, What Could Have Been A Night

**Author's Note:**

> So I got a request for Sherlock and James flirting at the wedding, and hopefully this bittersweet ball of fluff delivers! Think of this as the great 'what if' because it's been plaguing me for what feels like centuries
> 
> Again, many wonderful thanks to my beta reader Irrevocably_Sherlocked who got it all polished and nice for randomfandomgrad!

Sherlock felt out of place standing in the middle of the dance floor. He didn’t approve of it at all. He made a few false starts over to familiar faces – Molly or Janine or even Mrs. Hudson – something that resembled the least bit of safety. But each friend had paired off and anyone who hadn’t wasn’t in the position to take his arm (Lestrade, for example, was drowning whatever sorrows he had this week with another glass of wine before chasing it down with something with a bit more bite). And honestly, John had been right. Three people dancing was just off putting.

So he retreated, leaving behind the sheet music and his violin, buzzing past the merry reception attendees and towards the coat check, heart in his throat and pounding so hard he could feel it in his temples.

He’d deny to this day that he yelled in surprise when he heard his name, no matter how many times James would remind him that he screamed like a scared child whenever this story would be recited in the future.

He spun, sputtering as he saw the Major, standing tall and just barely close enough for Sherlock to catch a whiff of his cologne – something spicy that made Sherlock move just a half an inch closer before he caught himself and turned just as quickly back to the service counter, tapping his fingers impatiently before he realized there wasn’t anyone there.

“Major Sholto,” he croaked, grunting as he hopped over the countertop and into the coat check so he could locate his belongings. “If you have your ticket, I can find your things.”

“Vastly different career, manning a coat check counter, don’t you think? A bit outside your skill set.”

“Are you saying I’m under qualified?”

“I’m saying you have an obvious distaste in people.”

“True,” Sherlock acquiesced with a barely visible grimace. He hung his coat and scarf onto his arm and then leaned back against the counter on his other elbow. “Still. I am back here. I may as well.”

“It’s unnecessary. I have a room,” Sholto placed a hand near Sherlock’s elbow and tilted his head just slightly, “I hope you aren’t leaving – I was searching for a chance to speak to you.”

“I was just going out to smoke.”

“And you need your coat and scarf to do that in the middle of August?”

“Cigarettes are in my pocket,” Sherlock muttered as he started to fish around his coat, keeping his head down, “So… what can I help you with, Major Sholto?”

Sholto cleared his throat and offered out a lighter when Sherlock’s search failed to recover one. There was a vague, distant ‘thank you’ in return as Sherlock plucked it from his grasp.

“I just wanted to meet the man behind the hat, as it were,” Sholto smiled at Sherlock’s slight scowl at the mention of the godforsaken hat. “Take it you’re not fond of that particular title.”

“Titles don’t bother me. The hat bothers me,” Sherlock grumbled as he hoisted himself back over the counter and landed next to the Major.

“I’ll have to remember that,” Sholto remarked as Sherlock lit his cigarette before heading down the hall and towards the door. He followed wordlessly before he tilted his head, slipping past Sherlock as the detective held the door open with his back. “Is this difficult for you? The wedding, I should say. Not the smoking. Appears you’re a pro at that.”

“As you so graciously pointed out, I’m not exactly the hugest fan of people… though how John and Mary actually know this many is a mystery to mm–” Sherlock trailed when he caught how Sholto raised an eyebrow at him. “ – that isn’t what you were implying, was it?”

“Well, not entirely. I did listen to the entirety of your best man’s speech.”

“What was wrong with my best man speech?” Sherlock bristled as he rounded a corner, chasing off a couple looking for a private spot around the building by simply standing close to them. It only took a moment and couple of cold looks from the pair before Sherlock and Sholto were alone.

“Absolutely nothing,” Sholto sighed as he picked back up where their conversation had paused, before quietly adding, “If it was a newlywed toasting to their new spouse and not the best friend to the groom…”

“Oh…” Sherlock slouched against the brick as he stared off across the grounds, bathed in decorative lighting that interrupted the natural glitter of the stars above. He felt the music against his back and caught vague color shifts of party lights hitting the grass just before him. He stayed like this for a long moment, nearly forgetting his cigarette – actually forgetting his cigarette entirely – until it burned down and the sharp small heat hit his knuckles. He dropped it and hissed, shaking off the ash and nearly swearing before he looked over to Sholto, who was still standing beside him. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“No. How’s your hand?”

“Um… fine. Not… the first time, I suppose,” Sherlock scrambled quickly to compose himself and cleared his throat, slightly lost for words. Sholto beat him to the punch.

“You want to dance when we go back in?”

“Dance? You and I?”

“That’d be the plan.”

“Why?”

Sholto shrugged his good shoulder and offered a quirk of a smile before he nodded his head inside. “Seemed like you wanted to before you tried to escape.”

“I needed to smoke.”

“Of course you did.”

“I wasn’t escaping.”

“My mistake.”

They stood there in silence save the indistinct rumbling of music seeping outside while Sherlock stared down at his feet, fidgeting with the abortive movements towards his lips as he remembered he no longer had a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, he just pressed them to his mouth before he nodded and tried to hide the tiny smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I’ll dance with you. When we go back in,” Sherlock finally was able to get his hands to settle by folding them behind his back and rolling from the ball of his foot to his heel, much like an over anxious schoolboy, “Unless you’ve changed your mind…” he added for good measure.

Sholto smiled and shook his head, “No. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Good! That’s good then… oh!” Sherlock blinked a bit as he turned to see the party lights had given way in favor of the brighter venue lights overhead. The music had stopped and Sherlock craned his head to see wedding guests leave in droves. He let out a puff of air before turning back to Sholto.

“Appears the party ended without us.”

“I didn’t think it’d be so sudden…”

“It can be, seems the venue has kicked us out. Should we go see off the happy couple?” Sholto tilted his head at the way Sherlock hesitated, his fidgeting stopping as abruptly as the party as he stood very still. “Or do you still want that dance?”

“What should we do about music?”

“We could make it up as we go. Why don’t you teach me that waltz you wrote… or maybe something else you’ve written?”

Sherlock stared down at Sholto’s offered hand as he weighed the options. He stole a quick look back as he heard the laughter behind them. If he were to do the proper thing – see off his best friend and his new wife to their new life together – he would have to do it now.

And he found that he couldn’t. He stood in place and waited until it was too late. He watched the car carrying the couple away to their new life drive away before he turned back to the man patiently standing beside him.

He took his hand and started to hum, as he mapped out their steps. Sholto learned fast, repeating the tune as Sherlock began to count out the rhythm and they both fell into a gentle waltz. He let Sholto hold him close and his mind kept wandering to the warmth that radiated from the hand on his hip. Soon he realized that they had stopped moving, just standing chest to chest with Sherlock’s nose against Sholto’s shoulder, memorizing the complexity of his cologne and breaking it down to each possible ingredient so he could catalogue it individually.

“Thank you for the dance,” he whispered.

“It was a pleasure,” Sholto released his grip on Sherlock and let him take a step back. “Truly.”

They both stood in silence again before Sherlock started to head back to the door. “I should… gather up my things… my coat and scarf… violin. You know… head home…”

“Of course. I should get some rest myself… I leave tomorrow.”

“So soon? I mean…”

Sholto smiled and tilted his head back a bit in thought, “Why don’t you join me for breakfast?”

“What?”

“You know, breakfast? I am told it’s the most important meal of the day…”

“I…” Sherlock loosened the top button of his collar and cleared his throat again, for probably the tenth time since this whole encounter had begun. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Then I will see you in the morning…”

“See you in the morning…”

“Unless you planned to stay the night here.”

“Oh. I don’t have a room.”

“I gathered. But I do.”

“Oh?” Another long moment of silence. “Oh!”

And the quiet yes got lost somewhere, in warmth and spice, a kiss and a light squeeze to Sherlock’s hand, and a very gentle, “You’re welcome to call me James.”


End file.
